My Greatest Mistake
by Pellaaearien
Summary: AU: Balthier's POV. Alternate ending to the Good Enough story. What would have happened if Balthier hadn't come back after Bahamut? A different sort of look at Valentine's Day.


**Disclaimer: **The story isn't mine. Really. I've just tweaked it a bit. Please don't get mad!

**A/N: **So I promised a Christmas special, but I took so long to finish it that by the time it was done, it was far too late even for belated Christmas. Thus, I decided to put it in storage for another year and wait for Valentine's, which is finally here. This fic is set in an alternate timeline, so to speak, of the GE ending, in which Balthier and Siyana are never reunited after _Bahamut_'s accident. It provides a slightly different take on Valentine's Day, but of course, being told from Balthier's perspective, how could it be otherwise? (I love writing in Balthier's voice - it's such a delightful experience.) Inspired by the song 'Valentine's Day' by Linkin Park. Enjoy!

* * *

I've regretted many things in my short life. Short by any standard, though certainly not uneventful. In the beginning of my brief twenty-three years I was born a nobleman, the only privileged son of the Emperor's friend. I should have wanted for nothing. And for a while, that was all I was. But then the façade began to crack – the veneer beginning to lose its lustre after the death of my mother. From there, huge chunks were torn out of my life, especially when I acquired my new persona: Judge Ffamran. I could see through the gaps now, but I couldn't escape. Not until I encountered a stunning viera completely by accident. She clawed out the rest of the bricks, allowed me to take her into a life of freedom, reinventing myself along the way. Now I was Balthier, determined that it was to be my last incarnation, convinced that if I pretended hard enough I could believe it to be my only one.

Now I wonder how I could have been so foolish. The round world is a small one, and if you walk blindly, refusing to look back, you will end up in the same place you started, none the wiser from when you began. In fact less, because I no longer had the fake wall protecting me. I quickly fashioned a mask from the broken pieces that I could still stand to carry with me and moved on, fortifying it as I looked back only for that purpose. Fran told me of a dream (a true-dream, she said, and I know it to be so now) in which I looked upon her with a hume body but a face carven of marble. I'd never put much stock even in my own species' superstitions, so I completely dismissed vieran ones, and I was satisfied with my own strength, if not content.

The one stipulation of this new fortification was that it functioned only in darkness – any strong light would lay bare the cracks and the truth peeking through. So I stayed in the shadows, telling myself that the light was overrated. The lies we tell ourselves…

This continued until chance-meeting brought me closer to true happiness than I've ever been. A random whore from Rabanastre shook me awake and taught me to live again. Within the core of her intensity I warmed myself, and with her passion I loved. She was the sun that blasted away the last of my meagre defences and brought me a much-needed breath of fresh air. I admired her vivacity, her determination, her conviction. She was everything I was not, and I knew that there were better people out there for her, that I was no good in her life. But she was convinced, and I was content to play along, her fire flowing into me and reminding me what it was like to be human and feel what I felt, without having to wonder how it would affect me. And I thought that was my greatest mistake.

Now I know. It wasn't even close. I got complacent, thinking only of myself again, misreading all the signs, working so hard to make myself believe that I was better off out of her life that I actually succeeded, not measuring the cost, to her, of following through.

And of course, follow through was exactly what I did. I took myself out of her world, and commenced with the age-old pattern that I fell into habitually. I continued, never looking back. My pain was the greatest, I told myself; how could it be otherwise? Wouldn't she be glad to have such deadweight out of her life? Of course, I would be desolate and pining after my sun, the fiery gravitational body I had chosen to orbit myself around, but wouldn't it be better this way?

That was what I thought. And it was true. When the first crippling pains shook me, when I realized that I would be alone forever, of my own volition this time, when I curled into a foetal position in a futile attempt to capture some of that warmth near my core, the only reason I was able to bear it was because it was for the best. I would never complicate Siyana's life again. She would go to Basch, and she would be happy. What did it matter if I never found happiness, as long as she was able to continue on shining bright, lighting up a world I would never again blacken?

And so, after long months of struggle, I found the Cache in Glabados. There was nothing really remarkable about it, but strange things started to happen (such as that random ship appearing in the skies over Rabanastre, where we sold the stone) and Fran and I told ourselves we were well rid of it. Fran took this time to wonder aloud whether I would go back for Siyana now.

I flinched – I'd told her never to speak of it – but she persisted. Finally, I agreed simply to get her to drop the subject. Almost as though it was fated (and none know better than I that the gods have a well-developed sense of irony), two things happened in quick succession.

First, I had a dream – one so vividly real and so completely different from any other dream I'd ever had that I was sure this was what Fran meant when she told me of her "true-dreams".

It was of Siyana (though this was no surprise, since I had been dreaming of her constantly ever since _Bahamut_, and even before) – but she was not smiling, nor coming for me with arms outstretched. She was bound, not with the toys of our love, but with a straightjacket. And, going against everything I had ever believed of her, she wasn't struggling. Her face was expressionless. As I drew nearer, wanting to help her, I gradually became aware that what I had believed was a straightjacket were in fact the bandages of mummification, that Siyana had been buried alive.

I woke and screamed my throat raw.

Fran did not come to see what was wrong.

For the first time since I had met her, she didn't come when I needed her.

If that were not enough, as we were hurriedly preparing the _Strahl_ to take off at dawn that morning (the dream had filled me with a sense of breathless urgency), a message arrived by courier: _Balthier. I am fully aware you owe me nothing. But both of us owe Siyana many times over, and this note is on her behalf. If you valued her at all, come and meet me in Archades. B._

Following was an address in Tsenoble. The calligraphy was poor, as though Basch's hand had shook as he'd written. I stared in horror at the note, torn between the desire to crumple it up and throw it far away from me and to clutch it close to my heart. After an instant of tortured deliberation, I folded it very carefully and put it in my pocket.

I started up the engines immediately, without even waiting for them to warm.

"It may already be too late," Fran intoned. She, like me, had noted the past tense Basch had used to refer to Siyana. My lips curled back from my teeth in a feral snarl and I could not have answered if I wanted to. I pushed the _Strahl_ faster still.

I hardly saw the hated scenery of the Grand Terrace as I pushed through the crowds, looking for a face I hadn't seen in over a year. Fran remained behind, watching the _Strahl_.

I saw him standing off to the side, away from any crowds. It surprised me – I had been looking for the collection of rags he had worn when he accompanied us on last year's strange journey. Instead he was clad in the finery of the nobility, though in an understated way; black breeches and a red shirt with wide sleeves. He looked vaguely uncomfortable in it, and it looked the same on him, though I was hardly concerned with his fashion right now. It was his expression that froze me. His eyes burned in their sockets, out of focus, or seeing things that weren't there. His mouth opened like he was going to scream, but nothing came out.

For a moment I couldn't speak.

"She's dead." It was not a question, and I knew when I said it that my face was a watered-down echo of his. I was still in shock. I'd had to deal with this kind of news before, but it was made worse this time because she'd been so _safe_. There was no reason at all for her to have died. None. I'd been trying to resolve myself to a world without her for so long – but it was based always on the assumption that she was out there, _somewhere_. Beyond my reach, but still shining bright. Now all that remained was for me to find out how it had happened, how my sun had been taken out of this world, so that I could go and do the same. There was no way for my world to survive without its star.

"No." Basch's lips barely moved, so it took me a moment to recognize the fact that he'd spoken. Not as long as it took him to formulate his next word: he winced as he said it, as though it had physically pained him on the way out. "Unfortunately."

I waited for more, but it seemed that was all he had to say. Then I was stunned anew – how could that be all? The foundations of my life were crumbling – first she was dead, and then it would have been better if she were? The concept was not even a possibility in my mind. As long as she was around, the world could get better. Perhaps she had somehow been heinously tortured? I felt guilty as the relief flooded through me: surely Siyana was in terrible pain, but we would work through that. We could still be together. I knew that that was what I wanted, now. Abandoning all thoughts of trying to carry on without her, this near-miss had proven to me that she was necessary to my survival. I could be nowhere except where she was. "Where is she?" The words stumbled over themselves in their haste to reach the air.

Basch smiled (or, at least, I assumed that was what he was attempting to do because it screwed up his face like someone had just stabbed him in the back). He worked his mouth several times, each one seeming like their own separate scream, before finally giving up and beckoning to me. I followed him, much calmer now that I was not presented with his expression. Doubt and worry niggled at me. What, short of Siyana no longer existing, could have done this to the strong, dour Basch? Then anger began to flood through me. How had the deed even been possible? Basch was supposed to have been taking care of her; I had entrusted him with that. Who could have done such a thing, and for what conceivable reason? Had my enemies discovered our connection? I scowled, my face like a thundercloud. Ba'Gamnan. If he was behind this, the lizard had seen his last sunrise.

Consumed in these thoughts, I hadn't noticed where Basch had been taking me until I saw the sign. _St. Viola's._

Immediately my mind denied it. There must be some mistake. This must be some horrid, ill-advised joke which would soon be put right, and afterwards I would recommend Basch for acting school. Siyana was here, visiting an acquaintance, perhaps. Yes, that would be perfectly acceptable. And I would be there with her, and lend her my strength, little though the offering might be, as she had always given me hers.

While I was busy with this, we had entered the institution and passed the receptionist. She seemed to know Basch, and she looked at me with a kind of curiosity mixed with a less than charitable expression. From behind me I heard her mutter. "Bad business, yes, a very bad business." However, I only registered these things with half of my attention.

As we approached the room, my reason was frozen by several inescapable conundrums. I began to fear seeing what was in that room. Fear indicated doubt. Doubt threatened to expose flaws in my cozy story, and I feared re-examination, though I could think of no plausible reason for this to be so, thus starting the vicious cycle over again and running nowhere fast. Therefore when I entered the room and Basch's shoulders stopped blocking the scene inside, I saw at once that which I had dreaded the most and also the most shocking thing that any angered demon-god could have conjured up to torture me.

It was Siyana. She was not sitting in anxious contemplation beside the bed, no matter how I willed her form to be there. _She_ was the patient, the inmate. She was the one whose life had been destroyed.

And for a moment, the first moment I could recall since I had gained cognisance, I stopped. Well and truly stopped. There were no schemes or rationales in my head, no witty retorts, no handle, real or imagined, to even begin to summon my habitual mask to my face, or indeed to change expression at all. I was stilled, physically and mentally, for the first time in my life. Silence engulfed me, the precipice of a deeper yawning maw of pain. I forgot Basch, forgot the hospital, forgot even Fran. Nothing mattered but the small, pitifully forlorn figure on the bed. She lay perfectly still, without even the motions of normal sleep, eyes open but eerily unaware. Covered with a bedsheet, her chest moved slightly with her regular breaths, but that was all.

I was across the space in seconds, on my knees beside her prostrate form without conscious intention to do so. "Merciful Gods and Goddesses." Of course, they were anything but, visiting this upon her. The tortured cry sprang from my lips without any forethought on my part – that equivocating side that had created my persona had vanished, without a trace.

"Wake her, Balthier," Basch said hollowly. "If you do, I might forgive you." His words might as well have been air. I knew I had to wake her – that was my only purpose in life.

"Siyana…" My voice wouldn't come. Mortified, I cleared my throat and tried again. "Siyana, dearest?" Basch made a sound deep in his throat which I ignored. I placed a hand on her brow, a hand I willed to stillness. Her skin was disconcertingly warm, though I was grateful for it. If she had been cold I believe it would have broken my will. "It's all right, love," I assured her. "I've been an idiot, but I'm here now. Won't you please wake up?" Basch held his breath. I was sure I'd forgotten how to breathe.

Nothing happened. She didn't even blink.

Basch let out his breath in a gust of air that sounded like a death rattle. But I couldn't give up yet.

"Siyana, darling? It's Balthier. _Ffamran_," I exclaimed, willing to try anything. "Wake up and you can tell me how angry you are with me so I can beg and grovel on my knees to make you stay." Of course there was no question of her staying with me when she woke – not after this. But we could deal with that once she woke.

Nothing. Not even a flicker of awareness crossed her eyes.

"_Siyana_!" My voice rose in desperation. She'd told me once that her name in my mouth could make her do whatever I wanted. Why not now? "Please!"

I felt a hand on my shoulder – I'd completely forgotten Basch's presence.

"Balthier." His voice was dull. "Kiss her."

Imagine the irony if it was the kiss of 'Prince Charming' that broke the spell! With only the slightest hesitation, I pressed my lips to hers. They were cool, unlike her skin, but not cold, thank gods. It was then that I realised I missed her lips more than anything in the world. I wished so deeply for her to return the kiss that I was sure I felt my heart rip asunder when she did not. Even the cautious probing of my tongue was made to a motionless mouth. The contrast with our previous passion-filled kisses was nearly enough to move me to tears. I pulled back, watching her vacant face anxiously. The seconds stretched into minutes, but they may as well have been eons to me. At last, I let out a shuddering breath, forced to admit that it had made no change whatsoever.

I met Basch's eyes for the first time. They were as flat and chill as steel. I was totally incapable of speech, but Basch answered for me.

"The doctors… warned me," he said, with a voice like the inside of a grave. "She has retreated so deep within her own mind that we are all… illusions. To her, you may be a hallucination born of her own imaginings."

I cast my gaze desperately back to Siyana. "_No_," I breathed. How could I fight against such a thing? "Siyana, listen to me, darling. I'm here. Really and truly. I'm HERE!" My voice rose to a scream and suddenly I was shaking her. Basch didn't try to stop me – he was silently going to pieces in the corner. Horrified at my actions, I released Siyana's shoulders, but my cries had attracted a nurse, who hurried in, looking at me with pity. I hated it.

"Is everything all right, sir?" she asked, in what she clearly intended to be a sweet and reassuring manner. I could have struck her. It was then that I realized the truth as she said it.

"No," I said slowly, too distant from myself to realize I sounded exactly like Basch. "It won't be, ever again."

Perhaps frightened, the nurse was quick to make some excuse and depart. Basch left without saying a word. I wished he would hit me again – it would give me some outer pain to detract from my inner. But he didn't, and that indifference hurt more.

Alone in the cold white room, I couldn't tear my eyes away from my love's absent expression. Seeing blankness in place of what had once contained lively, bright emotion, I felt my heart freeze to the core and split asunder. For the first time since I was ten years old, I put my face in my arms and wept.

I tried everything – Gods know I left no stone unturned. Knowing that whatever actions I took would be justified if they succeeded, I did things, things that I had not thought twice about while Siyana was conscious, but seemed dreadful to do to a patient. I begged, I yelled; I hit her, _cut_ her. At last, driven to a depth of desperation I hadn't known existed, I barricaded the door and made love to her.

And _to_ her, it truly was, now, for her body was in no way receptive to my advances. I hadn't known, until now, how integral to the act this reception was. There were, I found, many things I hadn't known.

I wish I hadn't done it, now. Instantly I knew it was wrong, but I fought my growing sense of revulsion and tried to imagine she was real, moving beneath me. It was no good, like making love to a recently dead corpse, tainting the brilliant suns that were my memories of trysts with Siyana.

In the end, it didn't matter. Nothing worked. Once I jumped, thought I'd seen an eyelid twitch, but it was just a trick of the light. My days were now measured, not by the constant hum of an airship engine, but the steady drip of an IV. I rented an apartment in the city – of course, Siyana was the only thing that could make me stay. I called her name by her bedside till my voice gave out, hoping that the next recitation would be the one to rouse her. Hope was the real enemy. It would have been easier, in many ways, if she had been gravely injured, easier to believe that simply "pulling the plug" would be more beneficial for her. But there was always a chance, always the slightest possibility that she could be brought out. It kept me lingering, unable to take the easy way out.

I had never been so completely alone. Vaan and Penelo had visited once and gone away with faces older than I'd ever seen them, in search of some far treasure in a very distant land. They hadn't come back or contacted anyone since.

Basch had taken an extended leave of absence from his service and spent it at a Kiltia retreat in some remote mountain range. When he came back Larsa had to send him away again, and now he went about his duties like a machine, with no spark of life or emotion.

It was hard on Ashe to see him like that with no way of bringing him out of it – he cared for Siyana too much, and Ashe couldn't change that, no matter how deep their relationship had been. She, too, had made a visit (secretly of course, in the guise of Amalia), and gave me such a scathing glare that I was still reeling from it. After she left, some new doctors came in and gave the same prognosis: Siyana was trapped in a vicious cycle of denial that could possibly never be broken. I grew to hate all medical professionals.

And Fran... oh Fran.

She hadn't blamed me directly, as had all the others, but it was easy to guess her true feelings. She sent me out of the room and sat by Siyana's bedside for an entire twenty-four hours, possibly trying some vieran remedies, but they too failed and she left the room with a demeanour more tired than I had ever seen it and gave me a long, deep look.

"I love you, Balthier," she told me, and her voice startled me by sounding _weary_. "You are my partner and always will be, and your Gods know I will always love you. But you have lost my trust." Her voice grew quiet. I wasn't sure if I was meant to hear her next words: "I have lost too many sisters." There was nothing for me to say to that.

"I will return," she promised me, and I cringed inwardly. I had heard those words before. The next day, she left for refuge in a viera enclave and has not returned since. I have had no reason to doubt her assurance, but I still selfishly needed her strength beside me and I didn't have it. I didn't deserve it.

All of them could blame me no more than I did myself. When I took my brief sojourns into the living world I couldn't stand it – seeing a liveliness that Siyana would never partake in, that was lessened by her absence.

This morning, one crucial detail had changed in the routine that was now my life. Once upon a time, I had always brought flowers. But the looks that I was getting: "Oh, look at the poor dear, bringing flowers to someone who doesn't know..." became unbearable, and I discontinued the practice. But today was different.

I placed the single Galbana in the waiting vase by her bedside; the first of many, perhaps, but the first, and looked down at the prone form that threatened to erase all my good memories.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Siyana."

**end**


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